


Of Witches and Werewolves

by alexenglish



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Claudia Stilinski, Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - High School, First Time, Hand Jobs, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oneshot, Same Age Derek, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Spark Triad, tumblr prompt fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 01:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4160070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I need you to have sex with Derek Hale like yesterday,” Lydia says, slamming her bag down on the table with more force than strictly necessary, mouth a tight line of displeasure. Stiles chokes on his boxed apple juice, sputtering, limbs flailing.</p><p>“Say it louder,” Stiles hisses, leaning forward so they can talk in low tones. “I don’t think they heard you in the back.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Witches and Werewolves

**Author's Note:**

> From a fic prompt on Tumblr, “He did this thing to my ass that made my eyes water”. Beta'd by the lovely Kat.

“I need you to have sex with Derek Hale like yesterday,” Lydia says, slamming her bag down on the table with more force than strictly necessary, mouth a tight line of displeasure. Stiles chokes on his boxed apple juice, sputtering, limbs flailing.

“Say it louder,” Stiles hisses, leaning forward so they can talk in _low tones_. “I don’t think they heard you in the back.” 

He jerks his head towards the corner where the Hale betas sit. Isaac and Erica are openly leering. It’s pure luck that Derek and Boyd aren’t facing them. Stiles is ready to die of mortification at any moment, and Lydia _really_ isn’t helping. Mostly because Stiles still doesn’t know how to act. Since everything happened, it feels like either him or Derek should _say something_ , but they haven’t yet, and he isn’t sure why.

“It’s not like they don’t know,” Lydia snorts, pushing him back by his forehead until his ass plops back down on the bench. “They all probably know why you have to fuck Derek Hale. Also the fact that you don't have the balls to do it.”

“Wow, that was low, Lydia,” Stiles says, pointing a finger at her. Her face crinkles up like she wants to be petulant and stick her tongue out, but her eyes dart around, cautious. Instead she settles for flicking her hair and raising her eyebrows. “Goading is low, even for you. Just because --”

“Even for _me_? Just because you want to preserve your _precious flower_ \--”

“C’mon, Lyds!”

“Virginity is a social construct,” she says, so low that Stiles has to lean over the table again to hear her. “It doesn’t mean anything, not really. It will continue to _not_ mean anything after it’s done. Is that actually more important than your spark?”

“I _know_ it’s a social construct. You’ve made sure to tell me about it every few hours,” Stiles says, tempted to flick her or something if she doesn’t shut up. “It’s not _that_. I just don’t know how it’s going to change my spark. Do you want to risk it, really?”

His spark is low grade and _weak_. Pathetic, if he’s being honest. For whatever reason, magic takes virginity into consideration with some sparks. Virginity gives him a level-up, a boost, a Mario Kart Power Star. Without it, Stiles doesn’t know how useless he’ll be. It’s easy for people like Lydia to discard their virginity. She’s the strongest spark in something like 500 years. Not that Stiles is jealous, not _really_. It just means he has different precautions he has to take.

“Your spark is currently inside a beta werewolf,” Scott says, sliding into the seat next to Stiles. He rocks their legs together in solidarity before taking a bite out of his hamburger and continuing with his mouth full: “How long are you going to research dead ends just to get around taking some dick?”

“Can we lower the volume?” Stiles asks, too nervous to even look in the corner. It’s a _given_ that they’re all eavesdropping, but Stiles can _pretend_. Lydia gives him one of her long-suffering looks. “Mom just said stuff about ‘life connections’ and ‘meant-to-be’. I hate asking her about it. Do you know how long she talked about jizz and blood being the purest of life forces? Far too long, _far too long_.”

Not that jizz and blood is bad-wrong. It’s the extraction that’s disgusting. Shame jerking it in the corner while the rest of your triad gets spell ingredients ready. Having to _use a knife_ on skin? Stiles is terrible with blood. If he could have picked his god-given natural talent, having a witch’s spark would _not_ be it. Too much blood and guts and ick.

“She’s not wrong,” Lydia sniffs, examining her nails. 

“ _Duh_ ,” Scott and Stiles say at the same time. Scott grins at him, wide and goofy, drawing out a smile from Stiles. It’s not like he can help himself, he _has_ to smile at Scott. It’s an unwritten rule of the universe. 

Even if he’s in the same boat as Lydia, practically begging Stiles to sex up Derek Hale. Everyone is in that boat. Stiles gets it, he _does_. It’s crucial. Even now, he can feel their connection to the nemeton shaking free, and that’s _not okay_. It’s the weakest it’s ever been since they were dedicated to it by their mothers at their simultaneous birth. It’s _terrifying_ , but so is anal penetration, _so_.

“Look,” Lydia says, steepling her fingers. She looks like a super villain, watching them from under her perfectly symmetrical winged eyeliner, lashes a mile long. Her eyelids flutter prettily before her face goes grave. Stiles unconsciously moves backwards. 

“I need you to get your spark back,” she says, softly. Deadly, if you know her. It’s the voice she uses when she’s spewing incantations at ghouls and expelling goblins. The kind of voice she uses to coo at chickens before she twists their heads off and dismantles them for spell ingredients. 

It’s the voice that she uses when she’s being serious. Due to the amount of times it’s lead to some kind of destruction, Stiles has a fear response. Lydia Martin’s own Pavlov conditioning.

“Scott and I can’t do this without you. We’re useless without you. Triad means _three_ , and it doesn’t work if our third’s magic is stuffed up inside some asshole wolf.”

“Please don’t insult my future partner like that,” Stiles says, automatically. Derek seems like the kind of person to get feisty when he’s insulted. If there’s going to be any kind of sexing, Stiles needs to make sure Derek doesn’t get growly. He’s so engrossed in defending Derek that he doesn’t realize that it was a truly masterful pun until it’s too late.

“Please, just have sex with him, Stiles,” Lydia says. Her eyes go to the table the betas are at and then back to Stiles. From anyone else’s perspective, she probably still looks perfectly composed and fierce, but Stiles can see the way her eyes and mouth are tight at the corners. With Stiles’ spark MIA, both Lydia and Scott’s own sparks are waning. It’s all three or nothing. 

“I’ll _try_ ,” Stiles says, looking away, towards the table. In the same moment, Derek actually turns, eyes glued to Stiles’ face. It makes Stiles’ heart leap in his chest. Every atom in his body _begs_ to be closer to Derek, to touch Derek, to _merge_ with Derek and reclaim his spark. 

Instead, Stiles grabs his bag and slides his tray off the table, ignoring the concerned way Scott says his name. It only feels like he can breathe again once he’s out the door. The further away from Derek he is, the easier it is.

The thing about his magical virginity is that it’s not _just_ the magic that’s keeping him from giving it up. He wants it to be meaningful. The fact that his spark has been thriving off his virginity for his _entire life_ makes him want to give it up for a good reason. Not just because it got stuck in some _wolf_. 

The worst part about it is that he’s pretty sure it would be good. He’s not going to pretend it wouldn’t be. Even before the spark-stealing, he’s felt drawn to Derek in ways that he could never explain. Witches and werewolves don’t tend to be compelled towards anything other than violence in regards to each other, but Stiles _was_. 

Very compelled, that is. Towards Derek Hale, of all people. Derek Hale who is the charming misanthrope, who keeps people at a distance. Except for his pack, of course, because his pack is _his life_. Protective and sincere and, not to mention, the _actual hottest_. Even with the sticky-out-ears and adorable bunny teeth that shouldn’t been seen on a _werewolf_. Stiles is compelled. 

He _hates it_. 

Mostly because he knows that if he has sex with Derek, it is going to Mean Something. It’s going to mean _everything_ and Stiles isn’t sure he can handle that. Especially since it’s not going to Mean Something for Derek. Stiles might feel compelled towards Derek, but Derek has never even _hinted_ at knowing who Stiles was before the spark-stealing. 

“Are you avoiding me?” Derek asks, coming up beside Stiles, taking him by surprise. He screams and flails, shoulder hitting the locker next to him with _clang_. When he bounces off, he presses his back into the lockers and stares at Derek, heart rabbiting in his chest. 

At this proximity, Stiles’ skin buzzes with the desire to touch. He has to keep himself under careful control so that he doesn’t do something outrageous like slam their mouths together and paw at every inch of Derek’s skin. 

“I might be,” Stiles says, straightening, like he didn’t just shove _himself_ into the lockers. 

“You shouldn’t,” Derek says, voice low. There’s something about his tone that makes Stiles bristle. “We need to figure this out.”

“ _We_?” Stiles demands. “You mean _you_ , right? _You_ got stuck in the shift. _You_ had to get a witch triad to drag you out of it. _You_ ate my spark. Why do _I_ have to be included?”

“It’s _your_ spark,” Derek says, hands flexing at his sides like he wants to clench them and punch Stiles in the face. Stiles’ heart thuds like a metronome inside his chest, palms prickling with anxiety. “It was a spell that put me under --”

“A _spell_ , really?” Stiles says, shoving himself into Derek’s space. “Are you blaming a _witch_ , Derek? Because the last I knew, we were the only witches in the area.”

“You really think my control is _that bad_?” Derek demands, stepping up to Stiles angrily. His nostrils flare, color rising high in his cheeks. Stiles hates himself for loving it, riding the adrenaline-high of challenging a werewolf. “That a born werewolf would just get stuck and have to run to _teenaged witches_ for help? I had no other choice.”

“We didn’t have to help you,” Stiles says. He wants to say: ‘ _I_ didn’t have to help you’. When they went under, Lydia and Scott were pushed out of Derek’s mind completely. It was _Stiles_ who had to find Derek, huddled in a corner of his own mind, animalistic instincts pressing in on him from all sides. _Stiles_ who pulled him out and brought him to the surface. 

Derek just stares at him, jaw clenching and unclenching. It’s getting warmer, so he’s devoid of his custom leather jacket, in a soft henley with the sleeves pushed up. Stiles can see his pulse jumping in his throat under the surface of his skin. 

“You did,” he says, slowly, as if he has to drag the words out of his mouth. “I’m grateful.”

Stiles snorts out a laugh. He doesn’t _seem_ grateful, especially not being all growly and glaring and all up in Stiles’ grill. Derek stares at him until he stops laughing. That’s enough to make Stiles choke off his giggles and cough, seriously. 

“You’re _grateful_?”

“It’s not unheard of,” Derek says, haughtily. There’s a petulant look on his face, a _pout_. Stiles finds it endearing, anger starting to evaporate rapidly. 

“ _I’ve_ never heard it,” Stiles points out. Derek didn’t say it when Stiles brought him up to the surface. Of course, he was too busy with magical after-shocks, trembling on the table they had laid him out on when they carried his furry ass in.

Stiles was busy wheezing and gasping against the feeling of his spark being dragged away from him. It was like a vacuum, sucking the air out of him. Scott and Lydia felt it too, eyes blazing silver and pinned on Derek, but it wasn’t _Derek’s_ fault, not really. 

Instead of sticking around to see how Derek made it out, Stiles fled the room, trying to regain the ability to breathe. It was like being underwater at first, as his spark was pulled through him, out of him. It was excruciating. When it was over, he felt hollow and wrung out. 

“Thank you,” Derek says. Stiles meets his eyes, shocked into silence. The air between them squeezes in time with Stiles’ heart, filling up his ears with pounding. The worst part is, Derek can hear it, he knows. That makes it better and worse. Stiles watches as Derek’s lips twitch into a smirk, a tiny acknowledgement of the fact that he can read Stiles perfectly right now.

Without realizing it, Stiles moves closer, hand trailing up Derek’s forearm. All sensation reduced down to the coarse hair on his arm, the way their skin slides warm when they touch. Stiles can feel the energy of his spark: barely-there at the back of his tongue, waiting to be tasted. Stiles fixes his gaze on his own fingers, wondering if they moved of their own volition. 

It takes a millennium for Stiles to drag his gaze up Derek’s chest and past his neck again, his jaw and his mouth -- slightly parted in surprise, teeth visible. When their eyes lock, the draw towards Derek is so overwhelming, it’s _too much_. 

To alleviate the pressure, Stiles moves forward and kisses Derek desperately. Anything to get rid of the ache in his bones, the fizzle of his nerves, the way his pulse is snapping. 

When their lips press, it’s like everything dims out. The world goes out around them, and all Stiles can focus on is the way they kiss like they’ve kissed a thousand times before. That they tilt their heads just so and lick and bite in tandem. That Derek nips at Stiles’ bottom lip and sucks on his tongue, and Stiles’ knees go so weak that Derek’s arm comes up around him, pulls him in close. 

“We, ah, fuck,” Stiles says, trying to untangle himself. Derek gets the hint and draws back, looking dazed. “That was, uh, fuck.”

“Intense,” Derek suggests. The roughness of his voice crawls down Stiles’ spine. 

“It’s because I’m in you,” Stiles says, then jerks away, face heating up. That’s not how he meant it. “I mean, my spark, is -- it’s in you. Technically, part of me, because it’s my magic.”

“I’m fine with either way,” Derek says, eyes on Stiles. Stiles flails his arms, nearly punching Derek's throat out. He thinks Derek is teasing, but the _look_ on his face. Fine with _either_.

“Really?” Stiles chokes out, voice going high. Derek nods. “I didn’t even know you _liked guys_.”

Let alone acted against the stereotypical expectation of masculine dominance in homosexual relationships to explore sexual preferences with regards to penetration. Stiles is so fucked, it isn’t even funny. The idea of Derek with his fingers anywhere near or around his ass is just _too much_. 

“Take me on a date,” Stiles says, before he gets ahead of himself. There are still things like _crippling anxiety_ getting in the way of _any_ penetration. Small steps, simple progression towards the loss of virginity. Derek blinks at him. 

“Sure.”

“Sure-sure? Or just sure because you figure it might get you laid?”

“Does it matter?” Derek asks, in an offhand way that has Stiles defensive all over again. 

“It actually _does_ , thanks, asshole,” Stiles snaps, moving to walk away, hands clenching his backpack straps. Why does nobody understand that? Okay, so he’s a guy and a feminist and he recognizes that virginity as a social construct is toxic. That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t value it, that it’s not important. 

He wants it to be important. He wants to be romanced.

“Wait, Stiles,” Derek says, suddenly in front of Stiles. If Stiles had his spark, he would have knocked Derek down with of a burst magic, he was so taken aback. Stupid wolves and their stupid speed, Stiles thinks, heart in his throat.

“Oh _god_ , are you trying to kill me, fuck,” Stiles says, clenching his chest. Derek’s hands are on his shoulder and arm and Stiles can’t breathe because they’re close again, too close. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Derek says, biting at his bottom lip. Stiles gets stuck on the action until he realizes what Derek said, what he means. 

“I --”

“No,” Derek says, firmly. “We should. I mean, do you want to go out? Tonight or soon, I mean?”

Derek sounds nervous for the first time since Stiles can remember, words choppy and unsure. Stiles inhales, weighted with the significance of that. That _Derek_ is nervous at the prospect of a date and maybe-sex. Probably-sex.

“I -- You don’t have to. We can figure out another way.”

“And if we don’t?” Derek pushes, stepping closer. 

“ _I_ can figure out another way,” Stiles says, firmly, resisting the urge to move back only because he wants to move forward. He wants to press himself against Derek. 

“How much time do you have?” Derek asks. 

“What?”

“It’s hard for the others, right? Lydia and Scott?”

“They’re not going _die_ , jeez, Derek,” Stiles says, exhaling. This time he does move back, annoyed. Derek lets him go easily, but his hand slides over Stiles’ arm and his hand before they disconnect. Stiles watches it go and feels the loss _profoundly_. 

“No, but you’ll all lose it, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, a triad can’t function without three sparks.”

That makes Derek nod his head solemnly, lips quirking up in a smirk. 

“I’ll pick you up tonight, then,” he says and turns to go. He pauses, and his eyes slide back to Stiles’ face, mischievous. Stiles feels pinned by the look, exhaling in surprise when Derek grabs his hand and lays a gentle kiss to his knuckles. 

It’s nothing, but at the same time, it’s _everything_. 

It’s so much that Stiles spends the rest of the day in a haze thinking about it. He’s so preoccupied that he almost misses the way the Hale betas smirk at him in every class. Even _Boyd_ , who normally leaves his expression frighteningly blank unless he’s looking at Erica, offers Stiles a hint of a smile. Or a look of constipation, Stiles can’t tell by the last period of the day. 

Even driving home he’s so distracted that he runs a red light. Luckily, none of his dad’s deputies are around to witness it. It’s only a _side street_ , but it’s a testimony to how his brain is functioning. When he breaks the law, it usually isn’t in a _light running_ way. 

“You have a date with Derek Hale tonight?” is the first thing his mom says when he slides in. She’s curled up on the couch, looking at him from over the top of her reading glasses. Stiles stalls in the doorway, hands on his backpack straps.

“How do you _know_ these things?” he asks. 

“I talked to Laura Hale.”

“ _The_ Laura Hale? The Hale matriarch? You didn’t set her tail on fire or jinx her so that she only hits red lights when she’s driving?”

“Oh that’s a good one!” his mom says, eyebrows popping up. He just gave her ideas, great. Stiles drops his backpack and runs his hands over his face in annoyance. 

“ _Mom_.”

“No jinxing or harm,” she says, lifting her hands in surrender. “She called because Derek told her his intentions.”

“You talked about the date?” 

That's so... traditional, as if Laura Hale called on behalf of Derek to ask his mom for permission or something. Chances are they were just gossiping about _why_ and what they thought would happen. As much as they pretend not to get along, his mom admires Laura’s feisty side.

“You’re getting your spark back, then?” she asks, curious expression on her face. Stiles squints at her.

“Maybe,” Stiles shrugs, feeling the uncomfortable prickle of embarrassment under his skin. They’ve had regular conversations about sex since he was 12. After almost 6 years, you’d think he’d be used to it. Instead, he hunches up his shoulders and waits for the inevitable condom discussion. 

Only it never comes.

“I need you to be sure,” his mom says, face going serious. “Getting your spark back from someone who’s stole it is a connection that shouldn’t be underestimated.”

“What?” He has no idea what _that_ means. 

“I didn’t realize that trapping him as a wolf would lead to this,” his mother says, rubbing the bridge of her nose almost absently. Stiles’ pulse trips around in confusion.

“ _You_ did that?” he demands, voice tight. When she meets his eyes, she looks guilty.

“Those betas are punk asses,” she says. “They’re always messing around in our section of the woods. Isaac Lahey was the one who spray-painted _witches suck_ on the windows of the shop. Erica and Boyd are always getting caught for indecent exposure --”

“So you _hexed Derek_?” Stiles asks. “For teenage pranks?”

“No,” his mom says, vehemently. “I spelled him into purpose, so he could find his purpose and hopefully lead the others to it.”

“Why not Laura Hale, then?” Stiles asks, uneasy. It’s such a _mom_ thing for her to do. ‘Oh, you’re busy making trouble? Find a path in life’. It’s invasive in a way that he’s not used to from her. Annoyed, he scrubs his hand over his face again. Maybe she’ll disappear in the time it takes for him to close his eyes and open them again.

“It just _needed_ to be him,” she says, frustrated. Stiles gets it, he does. She’s a not-spark. A spark without purpose. In order for her magic to sustain, she has to do upkeep spells. Mostly, she follows her gut to what magic she needs to do. Sometimes, it’s spelling cats out of trees. Apparently, other times, it’s getting werewolves _stuck in their shift_. 

“It worked out,” she says, eyeing him in that curious way again. “He stole your spark.”

“How is that a good thing?” Stiles asks, feeling more irritated the longer she goes on being vague about the whole thing. It’s hypocritical, he knows; Scott and Lydia and him prank spell people all the time. Itching powder spells for Jackson, weak muscle spells on Danny, that time that they spelled Harris to say ‘cranberries’ instead of ‘hydrogen’ for a day. 

Getting a wolf stuck in a shift, though? Stiles remembers what Derek’s head felt like when he was in it. There was a sense of profound calm, but also aggressiveness and edginess, waiting to pounce, senses heightened. It was enough to drive Stiles crazy; he can’t imagine how Derek felt stuck like that for _days_.

“It means that it’s _meant to be_ ,” she says, voice spiking with excitement. “It means you’re deeply connected. You should be happy about that.”

“That still doesn’t make sense,” Stiles says, but his stomach flips at the implication of her words. He remembers the first time he saw Derek. Their eyes caught in the hallway at school the third day of 7th grade. He remembers how it felt like it _meant something_ ; how every time their eyes meet, it feels like it _means something_.

“I think you do,” she says, magnanimously. Stiles scowls at her and retreats, unable to deal with the way she’s talking about the whole thing. She’s right, she always is. She’s has a deep intuition when it comes to this kind of thing, but _still_. 

It’s still annoying that she didn’t bother to tell him that it was _her_ spell that got Derek trapped in the first place. When he went to her about his spark, she was concerned more than anything, explaining what happened, but never bothering to enlighten him. 

Except to tell him about how potent jizz is. 

And blood.

“Hypothetically, if we did a blood bond, would that work?” Stiles asks, squinting at her. She makes the surprised-eyebrows face at him again, smirking.

“Of course,” she says. “Blood is just as useful as other bodily fluids.”

“So, I don’t _have_ to have sex?” he asks, to clarify. Direct questions are better when it comes to his mom. She thrives off being nebulous. 

“I never said you had to have sex,” she says, frowning.

“You said sperm was an effective way to transport life forces!” he cries. All this time he’s been losing his mind because he thought he had to have _sex_ with Derek. If he had known, he would have pounced on him with a needle _days_ ago. Two pricks to their fingers and _wham bam, thank you ma’am_. Well, sir. Whatever. 

“I mentioned both blood and sperm. You isolated ‘sperm’ in the context of sex because you’re a teenage boy. You don’t even need to exchange bodily fluids, it’s about _connection_ \--”

“Okay! Mom!” he says, quickly, cutting her off, hand in the air as if he could even dream of silencing her. She stops talking with a smirk. “I’m getting ready and you’re not talking about exchanging bodily fluids.”

“You’re a witch!” she yells after him as he bolts up the stairs. “Bodily fluids are in the warning label!”

“I was born like this, no warning label,” Stiles mutters under his breath, tearing into his closet, trying to find something suitable to wear. It’s all graphic t-shirts and wrinkled plaid shirts. In his head, Derek is all tight tees and heavy boots: definition bad boy. There’s no way he’s going with layers. 

Even though that’s what he always looks like. Derek knows how he always looks. Now, he wants Derek to be _impressed_. He settles on a grey t-shirt that he hasn’t worn for years because it’s just the wrong side of tight. It makes his shoulders look broad, so he figures it’s a good start. Plus, artfully tousled hair? Yeah, he looks good. He’s got this.

He’s just finishing up when the doorbell rings, making his heart jump in his throat. When he stomps downstairs, his mom is eyeing Derek with a smirk on her face, the wrong side of mischievous. 

“Okay, I love you, goodbye,” Stiles says, worming his way past her to grab Derek and drag him away. The last thing he needs is for them to _conversate_.

“You’re being rude, Stiles!” his mom shouts after him, but the door clicks shut anyway. At least she knows when to push and when not to. This whole thing is too fragile for her to stage an inquisition. Stiles sighs in relief and practically slumps against Derek, who confusedly holds him up. 

“That was your mom?”

“Yes,” Stiles says, exhaling. “Please don’t worry about it.”

“She’s the one who spelled me?” Derek asks, eyes on the house. Stiles jerks upright and almost knocks their heads together, confused. 

“You know?”

“Laura told me,” Derek says, eyebrows quirking up, amused. It makes Stiles smile, relieved that he’s not resentful. The actual spell was a pain in the ass. Being in Derek’s head while it was _snarling like a wild beast_ was a pain in the ass. Losing his spark -- Okay, _Stiles_ is a little resentful.

“I am so sorry for my mom,” Stiles says, stepping away. They were standing really close, and Derek is watching him with that hyper-focused look on his face that makes Stiles want to squirm out of his skin. Standing close to Derek is almost too much. Everything in him wants to _touch_ , drawn like a magnet to true north. 

Stiles would say it’s just his energy wanting to be reunited with his spark, but he knows it’s something more than that. Even when he had his spark he felt that _pull_ towards Derek. It’s been there, just under the surface, for a long time. 

“It’s okay,” Derek says, with a shrug. “It was useful in the end.”

“Uh, full disclosure,” Stiles says, chewing at his bottom lip and waving his hand around, attempting to be nonchalant, but Derek can hear his heart thudding, guaranteed. “There’s something else we can do. Something more approved for general audiences.”

Stiles _needs_ to tell him about blood bonding. He’s not having sex with Derek under false pretenses, even if it seems like Derek is up for it. Which is still something he’s ever getting over: Even if they blood bond, he will always have the fact that some part of Derek was up for getting it in with Stiles. He’ll use that to boost his ego for the rest of his life.

“Something not sex?” Derek asks.

“Yeah, not sex,” Stiles nods, slowly. “Blood bonding. A quick cut to the palm and bam! Spark transfer. We don’t have to do the sex thing. Or the date thing. Or anything.” 

Because as much as he wants to do the date thing and the sex thing, it should be Derek’s choice. Witches and werewolves don’t typically get along. If, _when_ , it gets out that they went on a date, people will question their motivations. They’ll get questions about supernatural mergings and pack obligations. They’ll be asked if the reason for them dating is to quell the tension. God forbid it’s something they _want_ outside of political motivations.

Derek seems to sense the tornado in Stiles’ head. Without hesitating, he grabs Stiles’ hand and draws Stiles in. 

“I want to go on a date with you, Stiles,” he says, low and sincere. “I’ve _wanted_ to, I --”

“You have wanted to?” Stiles asks, frowning, head starting to spin with possibilities again, nerve endings feeling amplified. The more they touch, the closer they are, the more unbalanced Stiles feels. It’s all a rapid build-up to the crescendo, and Stiles is being dragged along. “Since when?”

Words like ‘inevitable’ and ‘meant to be’ keep speeding through his one-track roller coaster mind. It’s almost _too good_. Which is when Derek freezes up, eyes going wide. Stiles can feel his fingers clench over Stiles’ hand, like an imperceptible flinch. That can’t be good --

“I, uh,” Derek ducks his head and rolls his eyes dismissively. Stiles’ stomach drops in disappointment. “Pretty much since I first saw you.”

“You have a _crush_ on me?” Stiles asks, voice going high because his throat is closing up in confusion and excitement. That wasn’t what he was expecting at all.

“Maybe,” Derek says, eyeing him as if he’s nervous. Stiles blinks at him slowly, not knowing how to react to that. There’s no way Derek has been so oblivious to Stiles’ mutual crush this entire time, there’s _no way_.

“How do you think I felt about you?” Stiles asks, tentatively, squeezing Derek’s hand -- For reassurance, to keep him close, Stiles doesn’t really know. Derek’s eyes skip around his face, to their hands. There’s no way he _doesn’t know_ , none. Werewolf senses, anyone? He has to be able to hear Stiles’ heartbeat, feel how clammy his hands are. It’s all from nerves. Stiles is _so nervous_ , because he _likes_ Derek.

“I thought you were afraid of me,” Derek says, voice low. That makes Stiles _laugh_. The sound bursts out of his chest, loud and unrelenting. All this time, Stiles has been avoiding Derek because he thought he was being _obvious_ about his feelings. The fact that Derek thought he was _intimidated_ \-- 

“Wow, really?” Stiles asks, still laughing. Derek’s eyebrows jump up at his tone. “I’m part of a triad with _Lydia Martin_ and _Scott McCall_. I would not be afraid of the Big Bad Wolf.” 

The declaration makes Derek smirk, and Stiles’ pulse tumbles around in a way that’s definitely not fear. 

“Well, good,” Derek says, voice low. The sound is Doing Things to Stiles, sexy things. Derek smirks at him, as if he can read it clearly. Now that he knows what he’s looking for, he probably can. “I wouldn’t want that at all.”

“Scared, jeez, I can’t _believe_ you’d think I was afraid of some overgrown dog.”

“Already with the dog jokes?” Derek asks, hand tightening around Stiles’ to pull him along to Laura’s Camaro. “Not even ten minutes into our first date.”

Derek saying ‘date’ makes Stiles’ stomach go all funny and squirmy. It makes Stiles feel shy, want to duck his head and laugh. When he does, Derek shoots him a fond look. 

“I’ll refrain,” he teases, cooing at Derek when Derek opens the car door for him. The interior smells like vanilla air freshener, dash still greasy from the cleaners wiping it down. It’s obvious Derek just got it cleaned. The idea that he wants to impress Stiles that badly is _adorable_. 

“Don’t bother,” Derek says, when he slides into the front seat a second later. He grins, accomplished at his own agility. “I know you’re thinking it anyway, might as well say it.”

Stiles laughs out loud at that, grateful. Not many people want to hear his every, unrestrained thought. The fact that Derek does is something he’s going to _relish_.

In the car it’s easier. There’s no obligation for eye contact or wondering how close he should be. It’s perfectly acceptable for him to look straight ahead while they talk. Mostly, he does, but occasionally, he’ll glance at Derek’s face: the sharp angles of his nose and cheekbones, the way his eyelashes are short and thick. Stiles hasn’t had the opportunity to just _stare_ at Derek before. Never close enough to see that he has barely-there sun freckles or the fact that his cheeks look prickly in some spots. 

They talk about school, which is the easiest. There’s a lot of time discussing some of their shared teachers, things that have happened in school that they never talked about because they’ve never really _talked_ , like the pep rally where Scott and Stiles painted their bodies and crashed the cheerleading performance, or when Derek and Erica changed the warning bell to wolves howling. 

It takes awhile for Stiles to realize that they’re driving away from the town and not towards anywhere familiar, like a restaurant or the movies. The tug-tug-tug of the spark’s boundaries are up ahead, letting Stiles know that he’s about to go out of protected territory.

“Are we fulfilling your stereotypical serial killer persona?” Stiles asks nervously, feeling the twinge as they pass the invisible line. Officially, no longer under the protection of his coven. “Is this the part where you kill me and hide the body?”

“I wish you would trust me,” Derek says, sending Stiles a sly glance. Stiles makes a scoffing noise in dismissal, but that does help reassure him a tiny bit. There’s no way Derek would take him out of bounds to dismember him. Even the Hale pack wouldn’t be able to take on his mom if she went Season 6 Dark Willow.

“Unlikely,” he says, even though he does, just a little bit. Derek smirks at him, like he knows, but drops it. Stiles makes himself busy flipping through Derek’s CD book and making fun of his music choices until Derek rolls to a stop in a parking lot that nudges up against the woods.

“I can’t believe you’re taking me to some make out point,” Stiles teases as they spill out of the Camaro. Derek pulls out two backpacks and shoves one at Stiles, only grunting in response before leading the way into the trees. That makes Stiles nervous, worried even. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say, but their initial intention for this date was _sex_ , so it’s not like it’s unbelievable. 

They break through the trees just a little bit ahead, and there’s a clearing at the top of a hill that looks over a shimmering lake. It’s glittering in the evening light, catching oranges and yellows. Stiles just kind of stands at the tree line looking on. It’s breathtaking. It’s going to be even better when the sun sinks behind the hills and the valley descends in darkness. There’s a lump in his throat, trying to work its way out.

“Is this okay?” Derek asks, hand on his elbow. Stiles jerks out of it to see that he’s laid down a blanket on the grass and already taken his shoes and socks off. Stiles watches his toes flex in the grass at their feet, feeling dazed. 

“Yeah, I --” Stiles has no idea what to say. It’s romantic, it’s more than that -- Derek went out of his way to impress Stiles: cleaning his car, having his alpha call Stiles’ mom, a romantic outlook over a lake in a part of the woods that Stiles has never been in. “It’s amazing.”

There’s no way to keep the pure awe in his voice from being heard. It should be embarrassing, but when he looks at Derek, Derek’s eyes are soft. It takes every ounce of control in Stiles not to launch himself at Derek right then. 

Instead, he kisses his cheek quickly and moves away, toeing off his shoes as he goes. His lips tingle from the brief contact alone. Stiles can’t imagine what it would be like to linger with skin against Derek’s, hands and mouth. How all of that energy would come up to the surface of his skin. He remembers the kiss from school and can’t help the way his stomach tangles up in excitement.

When he sits and looks up at Derek, Derek’s still slowly blinking at the spot where he stood. Stiles almost expects him to touch his cheek in reverence, but he doesn’t. Instead, Derek joins him on the blanket and immediately starts rooting through a backpack, pulling out sandwiches. It’s almost methodical, but Stiles can see the pink on Derek’s cheeks and over his ears. 

“Oh god, is this a picnic?” Stiles demands, as Derek shoves a saran-wrapped sandwich into his hands. There’s that shy smile again, and Stiles grins back, unwrapping a roast beef sandwich. Which is his favorite. Of course it is, _of course_. “How did you know?”

“I asked Scott.”

“ _Of course_ you did,” Stiles exhales, unable to help how disbelieving it sounds. It feels like _so much_. Any date Stiles has ever been on has been movies and dinner, or spell swapping with witch friends and then making out for a little while. There’s so much effort here that Stiles doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“I wanted to woo you,” Derek says, with a shrug, like it’s no big deal. 

“I am so wooed,” Stiles confesses, putting the sandwich down so he can grab Derek’s face and kiss him. It’s the most anyone has _ever_ done for him, he feels like he’s going to burst with everything that he’s feeling. 

Derek melts into it easily, grabbing at Stiles until they’re closer, sandwiches forgotten. Stiles doesn’t waste time, just climbs on top of him and kisses him until they’re both breathless and panting into each other’s mouths. Derek’s hands are under Stiles’ shirt and Stiles’ nerves are zigging with sensation. 

“Okay, so we can do this,” Stiles says, into his mouth. “But we can blood bond, remember? I mean, I want to _do this_ , but I want you to _want to_ because if you don’t, it’s not --”

“Can I touch you?” Derek asks, disregarding Stiles’ nervous babble. Stiles’ heart goes _thud thud_ in his chest. 

“Do you _want to_?” Stiles asks. It’s redundant, he knows, because Derek wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want to. Derek doesn’t do things that he doesn’t want to.

But Stiles’ general attitude towards things is to check and double-check and check again. There’s other ways to do this that don’t involve dick-touching. Derek could easily take those routes, and Stiles wants him to be _sure_. This is going to mean _a lot_ to Stiles. 

In terms of his spark, it’s a big deal. Thinking back to what his mom said, he gets it. His spark, his magical energy, has resided in an _entirely different_ _person_ for over a week. Long enough to get accustomed to Derek as a vessel, long enough to tangle in his energies. When Stiles gets his spark back, it’s going to different, changed in ways that Stiles won’t be able to anticipate. Stiles is sure that it’s going to be better, but he doesn’t know for sure what will happen.

Plus, _virginity_. It means a lot to Stiles. He wants the action to be _meaningful_. It might be an outdated, patriarchally-influenced view on virginity, but fuck it. It’s what _Stiles_ wants from his first time that matters. What he wants is romance and connection and it might be stupid and cliche, but he’s getting that from Derek.

Derek looks as wrecked as Stiles feels: teeth biting into his bottom lip, heavy brows furrowed. It makes Stiles want to pet his face in reassurance. He’s a little punch-drunk off Derek’s proximity alone.

“God, I really do,” Derek says, trailing his hand up Stiles’ arm. It feels like electricity between their skin, neediness pushing to the surface. Stiles wonders how he could have missed it. Apparently, there _was_ something between them all along, and he was so occupied with not getting caught out that he was oblivious to it. 

“Good,” is all Stiles can say before he’s kissing Derek again, pushing him back so they’re horizontal. Stiles relishes the feeling of being on top. He doesn’t have to worry about his hands, planted firmly to hold himself up. All he had to focus on is kissing Derek: teeth nipping into lips and tongues stroking over each other.

Derek’s hands are under his shirt again, hot and heavy. Stiles relishes the feeling when he drags them down the length of Stiles’ spine. Everything feels frantic, boiling at the surface of Stiles’s skin. He needs his hands on Derek, he needs to --

“Okay, can I?” Stiles asks, pawing at the edge of Derek’s shirt. He drags it up and there’s _abs_ and _happy trail_. Stiles’ brain might actually explode, but Derek’s hands grab onto his: an anchor, steadying.

“You’re sure?” he asks, again. It feels redundant, but at the same time, it’s reassuring and sweet and Stiles _loves it_.

“God, yes, please, can I just touch you?” Stiles asks, letting their hands break apart so he can grab around Derek’s dick. Even through his jeans he’s searing hot and all for Stiles. 

“You don’t have to ask,” Derek says, breath stuttering out of his chest against Stiles’ lips. Stiles wants to tell him he _does_ , but he’s too distracted by the button on Derek’s jeans. Two hands, he’s not dexterous yet for just one at this angle. 

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Stiles confesses, as he drags the zipper down. “I just really want --”

“It’s not difficult, I promise,” Derek says, moving so he can push his pants and briefs down, and, then, there’s his _dick_ : thick and red, begging to be touched. Stiles obliges. It jumps up in his hand as Derek groans and falls back onto his elbows. 

“Reverse jerkin’ it,” Stiles says, crouching over Derek. He holds up his hand. “Lick my hand.”

“You’re right, this is so great,” Derek says, eyes sparkling. He drags the flat of his tongue up Stiles’ palm, wet and sloppy. “Romantic. _Lick my palm_.” 

Stiles can’t even argue, because it’s not romantic at all, but also because Derek’s tongue is trailing up Stiles’ first two fingers as he slips them into his mouth. It’s so wet and warm, Stiles’ elbow buckles a little and he wobbles as Derek’s teeth scrape his skin. 

Who knew _fingers_ were so sensitive. Every lick and suck and nibble is going straight to Stiles’ dick, pressing hard against the zipper of his pants. By the time Derek releases him, his hand is glistening, and Stiles is _panting_. 

“Fuck,” Stiles says, grabbing Derek’s dick and relishing in the easy slide as he surges forward to kiss him. Derek’s mouth is enthusiastic as they make out, sounds escaping his throat in response to Stiles’ experimental grasp.

“We should --” Derek doesn’t get his sentence out, he just wiggles out of shirt, making Stiles release his dick quickly. Stiles mimics him and takes a minute to stare at the way Derek is perfectly chiseled, gorgeous, and surprisingly hairy. Then again, _werewolf_. There’s a suntan line in the hollow of his hips that Stiles wants to lick. That can come later. 

Derek’s hot hands trail down Stiles’ torso, making his abs jump up in surprise.

“You’re really fucking hot,” Derek says, eyes on Stiles’ face. Stiles doesn’t respond, doesn’t think he _can_. The validation makes him want to squirm, and it’s so nice, he’s afraid he’ll ruin it if he says _anything_. Instead, he leans forward and rewards Derek with a kiss and his hand back on Derek’s dick. 

Then, there’s a hand on _Stiles’_ dick, and it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. Groaning, he bites into the front of Derek’s shoulder, making Derek moan in response. It doesn’t take long for him to abandon sucking bruises into Derek’s neck in favor of watching their hands work each other over and over, though. 

Looking down, he can see his hand around Derek and Derek’s hand around him. The red, blushing heads of their cocks glisten with precome. Derek’s holding him around the middle of his shaft with a hard friction that Stiles knows is going to have him coming soon. Stiles tightens his grip just to hear Derek’s breath stutter out. 

It takes him a minute to realize everything is _hot_. More than normal, as if they’re in direct sunlight. All the nerves in Stiles’ body are tingling, sizzling, popping with sensation. There’s fizzing under his skin again. He feels like he’s going to _explode_. 

If the look on Derek’s face is anything to go by, he feels it too: The way the air is thickening around them, the way the pressure is building. It’s as if Stiles is going to vibrate completely out of his skin. He feels sweat prickle at his hairline, breath coming in shorter pants. At this point, Stiles doesn’t know whose hand is whose or which voice it is that’s moaning. They feel the same, they feel like they’re _one_.

That connection, there’s that connection. Stiles can feel it passing between them, a feedback loop of pleasure. It makes everything more intense, so much more intense. 

Their hands move faster, grip tighter. Stiles feels his balls draw up at the same time the tension in his chest expands, radiating into every bone and muscle in way that _feels_ bright-white, but doesn’t look like anything. When they come, they come together, muscles tensing in bliss, cum shooting across each other’s skin. 

Stiles squeezes his eyes closed so hard there are white stars behind his eyelids, head swimming from release. Without a second thought, he feels around inside of himself, detangling his and Derek’s energies. When he nudges up against his spark, he feels so relieved he could _cry_. 

All his connections are there: Lydia, Scott, his mom, the coven. Then, at the very edge, a new connection. It’s barely there, but Stiles would recognize the feeling anywhere. It’s the same feeling he got when he was in Derek’s mind: the restless urge to run and romp and snarl and howl. Stiles pokes it with his energy curiously, watches as Derek’s head snaps up.

“Did you feel that?” Stiles asks, even though it’s, once again, redundant. The smile that creeps over Derek’s face is soft, but wide, curious. 

“That’s a pretty heavy duty connection,” he says as he grabs his shirt and wipes Stiles down with it, cleaning the cum off them both. It’s almost _more_ intimate now, as Derek handles his soft cock and kisses him while he tucks everything back in. It takes some wiggling to get their pants up while exchanging gentle kisses, but they manage. 

“Your phone is going off,” Derek says, kissing the side of Stiles’ neck, teeth scraping over his skin. Stiles will be able to get hard again in a few minutes, he knows it. He’s looking forward to putting his mouth on that tan line. “It has been since we came.”

“Oh fuck,” Stiles says. Gingerly, he rolls off Derek and leans over to grab his phone, sighing at his inbox.

_Scott [18:36] DID YOU? YOU DIIIIIID!! HOW DOES IT FEEL, BRO?_

_Lydia [18:36] Thank GOD, Stilinski_

_Mom [18:37] I hope you used protection!_

_Mom [18:38] Even with the blood bond, cleanliness is important!_

_Scott [18:38] how did it go? do you feel manly?_

_Scott [18:39] JK don’t tell Lydia I asked_

_Scott [18:40] fuck she knew_

_Scott [18:40] Dude, seriously tho?_

Stiles laughs at his phone outright, ignoring his mom and Lydia completely. He’ll talk to him later. Right now, all he’s interested in is the way the sun is setting behind the other side of the valley. The way the red tones in the sky make everything seem impossibly warm. Derek’s lounging on the blanket, sandwich in hand. When he senses Stiles staring, he turns and smiles just the tiniest bit before ducking his head, shy. Stiles grins and bites his lip, shooting Scott a text.

_To: Scott [18:42] Virginity totally lost_

_To: Scott [18:42] He did this thing to my ass that made my eyes water!!_

_To: Scott [18:43] Just kidding, we just jerked each other off. True loss of virginity is about that connection not penetration._

There’s a pleased feeling that radiates through their bond, making Stiles’ skin break out in goosebumps. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles demands, turning. Derek drags his gaze up and smirks at Stiles, exceedingly pleased with himself. “Were you looking at my ass?” 

Derek laughs and puts down his sandwich, moving quickly and gracefully so he has Stiles on his back in no time. He drags their noses together and kisses down Stiles’ cheek, towards his ear, across the moles on his cheek. 

“Is that alright?” he asks, nuzzling into Stiles’ neck. It takes an eternity to choke out an affirmative as Derek worries a bruise into Stiles’ neck with his teeth. Stiles knows he should care, but he doesn’t. He just wants Derek’s mouth and hands on him forever. 

“More than alright,” Stiles says, breathless already. His dick is already getting hard again, pressed between them. Derek’s smile is predatory as he pulls back and pins Stiles wrists down to the ground, rocking their hips together. 

It occurs to Stiles that he has no idea what this _means_. Obviously, he has his spark back and now Derek is a _part_ of him, but does it mean that they’ve alleviated the tension between witches and werewolves? Does it mean that there will be new problems? Do they have to stop pranking the betas? Is he going to have to meet _Laura Hale_? _Are they boyfriends_?

“You’re thinking too hard,” Derek rumbles. Stiles feels it in his chest where they’re pressed together. Derek presses a kiss to his nose and then nips the tip. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.”

“The only thing that matters,” Derek says, getting that _look_ in his eye again. It’s playful and adoring all at once. It makes Stiles’ heart squeeze tight in his chest. “Is how I’m about to blow your mind by sucking your dick.”

“Isn’t that why they call it a blow job?” Stiles asks, lifting his hips so Derek can shimmy his pants off all the way and toss them behind him. Derek’s hands are on him again, stroking him to full hardness as they kiss, slow and wet and searing.

“Exactly,” Derek says, and scoots down his body, pressing kisses into his skin as he goes. 

Later, after another orgasm for each of them and a makeout session in the car that leaves Stiles’ lips tingling and bruised, Stiles is up in his room, sighing. 

When he finally gets around to checking his phone, he has more texts:

_Scott [18:51] That should be your senior quote, dude! Connection not penetration!_

_Lydia [18:53] Scott and I are getting you a “Congrats on the sex cookie”, be prepared._

Finally, one from Derek:

_Derek Hale [21:34] Tell your mom I’m sorry I got you home so late on a school night._

_Derek Hale [21:35] I wish I could have kept you for longer. I’ll see you tomorrow. Tonight was really something, Stiles. Thank you_.

Stiles doesn’t have the words to respond to that, so he nudges their connection in acknowledgement. At any point in time, he can feel a part of Derek that’s exclusive to him. It’s a reminder that it’s real and it’s meaningful, and it’s everything Stiles has ever wanted.

It doesn’t take long for Stiles to feel Derek pressing back. 

_Goodnight_.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
